Ruth Downie - Tabula Rasa

She had said, “You know I will not,” and kissed him.

He had no idea whether she had meant she would not do anything untoward or that she would do whatever she thought was necessary but not tell him about it. It was true that a man had to be master in his own house, but there were times when it was best not to know.

He had deliberately left Pertinax until the end of his round. The man continued to make remarkable progress. It was a shame he did not appreciate it. Despite being trapped in a hospital bed, he seemed to consider himself still on duty and obliged to keep up standards by pointing out any shortcomings that came to his attention. Or, as Valens would have put it, he was well enough to grumble. Ruso resisted the temptation to try and cheer him up by telling him his daughter was on the way. It was anyone’s guess what state the roads were in, and in his experience, no matter how skilled they were at terrifying grown men, fathers always worried about their daughters.

He was concentrating on examining the wound, making the usual checks for inflammation and hemorrhage, when he became aware that Pertinax’s complaints had turned to “. . . this half-baked nonsense about a body in the wall. I suppose you’ve heard?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The centurions need to work them harder,” said Pertinax. ”If they want something to be frightened of, they can be frightened of us.”

Ruso said, “Can I ask who told you, sir?” Whoever it was, the man clearly needed a good fright himself. Ruso was looking forward to administering it until Pertinax said, “That tribune with the bad smell under his nose. What do they call him?”

“Accius,” supplied Ruso. It was not like Pertinax to forget a name.

“Him,” Pertinax agreed. “Came in here this morning. I told him you need a better clerk straightaway.”

Ruso felt his mouth fall open and closed it again. After repeating the words to himself to check that he had understood correctly, he said, “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me,” growled Pertinax, swiftly closing the chink of generosity as if he were embarrassed by it. “The place is a shambles. I can tell that even from here. How many times have I got to ask before I get a pair of crutches?”

Ruso placed the lamp on the table in the doctor-on-duty room and flipped open the writing tablet he had chosen from the vast selection of used items in the office. Someone had already tried to obliterate what appeared to be a shopping list from the surface of the wax, so he had decided to wipe it clean and put it to better use.

If Albanus did not manage to call in here on the way over to Arbeia, he would arrive at his new job completely unaware that the nephew was missing.

To-Albanus, Tutor at the House of the Prefect, Arbeia

In the absence of the prefect’s name or unit, he would have to entrust this to somebody with some common sense and hope for the best.

From-G Petreius Ruso, Medical Officer, XXVV, Parva.

Ruso to Albanus.

I hope you have arrived safely in Arbeia.

He tapped the stylus on the casing of the tablet for a moment, then began:

I am writing to you about your nephew Candidus. He worked here at the hospital for three days but I am sorry to say that we have not seen him since the ninth day before the kalends of November. He left no message and we have been unable to trace him. I am hoping you may have heard from him.

As soon as he turns up I will write again. Meanwhile if you have any idea where he might be please put my mind at rest.

Tilla and I are well and she sends her good wishes.

She didn’t, but it would do no harm to pretend. Not knowing what to say about Grata, he ended with:

Go well, old friend.

Then he slapped the tablet shut, put the stylus down, and pinched out the lamp. His eyes felt gritty even when he closed them. He felt better for having written the letter, even though he was not going to send it yet. There was always the chance that when the pharmacist returned from leave-which must be soon-he would know exactly where Candidus was, and they could all stop worrying. If he didn’t, the letter would be sent, and the worrying would carry on.

“Where is Branan?”

This seemed an odd thing for Enica to be asking her. Tilla waited outside the gate, still unsure of her welcome, and said, “I have come to speak with him.”

“Did you leave him with Conn?”

Tilla was even more puzzled. “I have not seen either of them.”

The color drained from the woman’s face. Then she ran back toward the house shouting, “Husband! He is not with her! She is here and the boy is not with her!”

Tilla let herself in and dropped the frayed rope back over the gatepost. When she turned, Senecio was limping toward her. Despite the early-morning frost on the ground, he had not bothered with a cloak. His first words were “Did you not send for my boy yesterday?”

Tilla felt her stomach tighten. “I did not. I have not seen Branan since I was here when the soldiers came.”

Enica grabbed her by the shoulders. “Do not lie to me! Where is my son? What have you done with him?”

“I have done nothing!” Tilla cried, trying to raise her hands to defend her face. Enica was powerfully built, and Tilla did not want to fight.

The old man was shouting, “Stop! Stop, wife!”

“Where is my son?”

“I do not know!”

“Stop, wife!”

Enica loosened her grip as she was dragged away by her husband.

“Wife, leave her. She may be speaking the truth.”

Safely out of reach, Tilla massaged her shoulders. Enica was breathing heavily, rubbing her own arm and glaring at her husband.

“I have not seen Branan,” Tilla repeated. “People are saying he spread a bad story. I came to warn you that there may be trouble.”

Senecio frowned. “What story?”

She told them.

Enica said, “We know nothing of this. Where is my son?”

“I don’t know.”

“The army are blaming him for something so they can take him!”

Tilla said, “Someone told Virana it was him spreading the story. I do not know who.”

“It is a lie!”

Senecio rested both hands on his stick and bowed his head.

Tilla said, “When did you last see him?”

Slowly, as if the words did not want to be spoken, the man said, “He was out with the neighbor’s boy yesterday. Inam. He did not come back. We thought he must be with the neighbors. When the light was dying, his mother went to fetch him, but Inam had gone home alone. He told her . . .” His voice cracked. He tried again. “He told her you had sent a soldier to fetch Branan.”

“But I would have come to the house!”

“We thought perhaps . . .” He paused.

“We thought you were too embarrassed,” said Enica, clutching at a fistful of her shawl. “I knew we should have gone straight to the fort!”

The other adults were beginning to gather around them now. The skinny man, the man with one eye, and his wife. Cata and her mother and sister were there too. As each one arrived the bad news was passed on: “He is not with her.” “She has not seen him.” “She says she did not send for him.”

“Conn went out last night to fetch him back,” Senecio continued. “The patrol would not let him pass on the road because of the curfew.”

“He should have gone by the field paths!” Enica said. “I told him.”

“Then he would have been arrested when he got there.” Senecio looked at Tilla as if hoping for reassurance. “The patrol said they would look out for a lost boy.”

“That was a lie too,” put in Enica. “I asked a patrol this morning and they had been told nothing of him.”